


Just Getting Started

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [151]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Bossy Steve Rogers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 10:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Bucky ties Steve up in knots in more ways than one.





	Just Getting Started

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Handcuffs/restraints. Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/promptsnsfw).

Steve’s hands are tied. Literally, for once. They’re each bound with a soft cloth to the bed frame, each a separate prisoner behind a soft bowknot. Neither knot is especially strong; a few good yanks and he could work himself free of each. But that’s equal and opposite to the point, isn’t it? He has no desire to escape. There’s nowhere that he’d rather be.

Buck is sitting at the foot of the bed, grinning like a madman, his eyes lit up like it’s Christmas. Beneath his undershirt, his chest is the color of cranberries and honestly? He’s breathing harder than Steve. And that’s only from the tying and the looking; they haven’t even touched each other yet. Well. Not that Steve’s gonna be able to do any of that.

“I’m not saying it’s a good look for you, kid, but I gotta say: it ain’t bad.”

“Really?” Steve says, raising his voice over the tremor in his chest, the kettle drum of his heart. “Then why are you just sitting there, Barnes? I thought you were the man with the plan.”

Bucky laughs. “Always, Stevie. Always.”

Steve squirms a little, rolls his hips up and wiggles his Y-fronts. “So--your plan is to sit there like a lump and watch me get hard by my lonesome? Doesn’t sound real fun. Not for you, anyway.”

“How would you know?” Bucky says amiably. “Maybe this was my plan all along. Tie you down and watch you get hot and bothered knowing you can’t do anything about it.”

“That’s not what we talked about.”

“I know, baby, but now that you’ve put that idea in my head, I kinda like it.” He gives Steve the slow-eyed smoldering look he usually dolls out to pretty dames, to the skirts who nudge up to him on the street or wink at him in bars and it makes the heat in Steve’s gut go tighter, that look, makes his cheeks start turning up red.

“Bucky.”

Two fingers on his ankle, a soft, torrid touch. “What?”

“Quit playing around and kiss me already."

Bucky chuckles and ducks his head down, chases his fingers with his lips. “Mmmm,” he says against Steve’s skin. “How can I say no to that?”

He stands up and in one fluid move, his undershirt’s on the ground and his dungarees are open, sliding fast to his knees. It’s not fair, how good Bucky is at this, at being effortlessly sexy; it’s what got Steve in trouble in the first place when they moved in together, being exposed to it all the time, Bucky’s big, leonine grace. It didn’t matter if it was early in the morning or half-past midnight, if he was in his boxers or his best going-out suit, there was something  _ in _ Bucky, his aura or something, that made him seem to Steve like the embodiment of sex even before they started fooling around.

But then they had, more or less accidentally, if getting drunk and putting his head in Bucky’s lap counted as an accident, if Bucky petting his hair and stroking his sides and slipping his fingers under Steve’s tattered t-shirt to cup the small of his back did, too. He’d gotten hard, touching Steve like that, and hadn’t said a word about it, hadn’t done anything other than spread his thighs so Steve could get comfortable, so Steve could turn his face against the heat and breathe in Bucky’s smell, rubs his mouth against the stiff stretch of Bucky’s pants.

“Stevie,” Bucky had said quietly, like they were in a library or a church. “What’re you doing?”

Steve had moaned, a soft hungry sound he didn’t recognize, halfway drowned in the drink, and squirmed under Bucky’s hand, the one that was creep-crawling up the spike of his spine. 

“Buck--” he’d gotten out.

“I’m right here, baby.”

Steve had turned his face up and seen Bucky looking down at him with an expression he’d never seen the jerk wear before, fierce and impossibly tender. “Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

Steve sat up so fast the world went sideways. “Fine,” he’d said, stretching out his hands, “then I’ll kiss you.”

And he had and Bucky’d kissed back with a groan that made the old settee shake and that was it, Steve was done for: he’d fallen good and finally and forever for the best friend he’d had his whole life.

“Why didn’t we do this before?” he’d asked one morning.

Bucky had kissed his shoulder, bitten easy at the freckles there. “Because you wrung me dry last night, oh greedy one,  and I needed breakfast first.”

Steve smacked him. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Bucky’s lips had lifted in a smirk. “Hmmm.” He lifted his head and bit gently at Steve’s ear. “I mean, I guess we could’ve fooled around in high school. Is that what you’re getting at? I could’ve bummed my uncle’s car and driven us out to Long Island, had my way with you in the backseat.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah? You wish.”

“Oh, I know,” Bucky purred. “If I’d put my hand down your pants in high school, you’d have come all over yourself.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really?” A hand slunk over his hip and caught his stiffening cock. “Look at you. You just came, you little minx, and me just talking about fooling around has you hot.”

Steve had rolled his hips and let his head fall back even as he spat: “No, it doesn’t.”

“No?” Bucky had squeezed him, given him a perfect, hard yank. “Your dick just happens to be hard?”

“Yes,” Steve'd managed, “total coincidence.”

When Steve was close, scrabbling at Bucky’s arms and gasping, Bucky had nuzzled his ear again, let out a long, unsteady sigh. “This was the right time,” Buck had whispered. “Right now, this year. You and me. It was always just over the horizon, but baby, it’s here and it’s now.”

And now, right now, Bucky’s standing over him, stripped down to his skin and peeling his eyes over Steve’s body--his skinny chest, his slim hips, the spindly knock of his legs. And the one part of him that’s still covered, barely, that’s trying it’s damnedest to kick its way through his white Y-fronts from just the weight of Bucky’s gaze.

“God, Stevie,” Bucky says, each word a tremor. “Look at you.”

“For the love of Pete,” Steve says, “quit gawking, Barnes, and get down here.”

“Oh, look at you, General. Tied up and still giving orders. You want I should salute, too?”

Steve looks pointedly at Buck’s cock. “I think you already kind of are.”

“What, this little thing?” Bucky fists himself, grins when Steve lets out a hiss. “I don’t know. I think I could do better. You wanna see?” 

Then he’s down on the bed and spread over Steve, knees tucked into Steve’s hips, his mouth an inch too far away from Steve’s lips, and it’s only then that Steve really feels the bonds that are holding him, the full force of the sensation of being held back. He wants to feel Bucky's body so badly, wants to trace the lines of that tanned, familiar skin, wants to swallows the scars from old schoolfights and the fine hair and the moles that make constellations on Buck's broad, beautiful back.

“Oh, god,” he breathes in Bucky’s face. “Oh, Buck. Oh, god.”

Bucky just beams, the bastard, beams and hitches his hips so his cock drags over Steve’s, still trapped inside his damned underpants. “Hey now,” he murmurs, “slow down. We’re just getting started.”


End file.
